


White Winter Hymnal

by allourheroes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Fallen Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say snow is symbolic of purity, of rebirth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Winter Hymnal

**Author's Note:**

> So, I actually wrote this before any of season seven aired, and I'd never heard this song at that time, but I'm borrowing its title as the lyrics seemed appropriate:
> 
> _"you would fall, and turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime"_ ("White Winter Hymnal" by Fleet Foxes)
> 
> This is short and could be pre-slash, but...oh, well. Imagine it how you'd like. Also, it's Destiel week on tumblr, so I thought I might as well post this now since it didn't seem like I'd ever really add much more to it.

It was all white. Except for the blood he was coughing up onto it, that was definitely red.

There was nothing else around him, it seemed. Just hot, vicious red marring the cold, lonely white.

Castiel could feel the chill seeping into his bones, lying there stiff stuck to the ground. The cold numbed away the pain until it was surrounding him, overwhelming his senses, burning the skin exposed to it.

He’d never really felt the snow before, and, for all its beauty, he knew its tragedy.

He made an attempt to get up, lifting his upper body with the support of his feeble arms, only to wetly splutter more spots onto the icy earth and falling back down hard.

Yes, it had everything to do with falling.

No feeling now besides the sense of being so _tired_. His eyes closed without his volition, flitting open again for fractions of a second at a time before slipping back into the blackness behind his eyelids.

He was floating, his limbs swinging in the air. Strong arms looped under his knees and arms, carrying him away from the cold and into the warmth of a ’67 Chevy Impala.

Dean figured that if he--of all people--deserved to be saved, so did the angel who’d braved Hell for him.


End file.
